


All You Never Say

by mamodewberry



Category: Free!
Genre: Commission fic, Cooking, Hand Jobs, M/M, Post-Series, Slow Build, haru is clueless, i didn't kill my beta this time, makoto is a precious self-conscious cinnamon roll
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-23
Updated: 2015-09-23
Packaged: 2018-04-21 07:59:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4821434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mamodewberry/pseuds/mamodewberry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Makoto learned something from his female classmates: he had been flirting with Haru all his life. </i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	All You Never Say

**Author's Note:**

> This is a commission fic for [Dewmelt](http://dewmelt.tumblr.com). A more well-off Makoto being flirty and a jealous Haru with some smut. I hope this is close to what you were envisioning! Thanks to Gabapple for being my beta once more!

“After dredging pork in flour and panko mixture, fry in ready oil until golden brown…” Makoto read, taking the coated pork in a pair of tongs and bringing it to the pan. It dropped with a sputtering hiss and Makoto yelped to avoid the oil, maneuvering around the pan to turn the heat down. “Too hot!” He stepped away from the line of fire and watched the pork cook and change colors until it was safe to come closer. He waited a few more minutes for a color that resembled gold and flipped the meat to the other side as suggested for another few minutes, removed onto a plate and sliced open to make sure it was done, devoid of pink with the breadcrumbs extra crisp.

Elated with his success, he grabbed for his phone, took a photo and composed a text to Haru:

_I did it! (I think… I haven’t eaten it yet, but it looks good and done!) My first tonkatsu! =^.^=_

Smiling, he hit Send and watched the envelope fold and fly into cyberspace.

With the test piece out of the way, he grabbed the second tenderloin and repeated the process and it joined the first piece on the plate to be eaten. He frowned at not having more forethought on a side. Next time!

As he chewed, his phone vibrated and he hit his knee on the table.

_I knew you could_

His heart skipped at the praise. Haru always had that effect on him. Even before he knew why.

The night of Obon when he tried to help Haru sort out his future and it had escalated badly, he thought he’d lost his chance and started to believe in the saying of ‘If you love someone, set them free’. Haru deserved to be free. Then apologies were made and their team took home victory and Haru announced he’d be accepting a scholarship from a university in Tokyo, meaning he’d be going to the same city as Makoto. Going to a prestigious university ensured Haru’s professional swimming career, his new dream. Coming to Tokyo alongside a friend meant nothing more than seeking some familiarity and support in a new life.

That’s what he kept telling himself. He was happy for his best friend that he finally found something to work towards and get out of a life that would have remained stagnant, otherwise.

 _Thank you! I’ll have to have you over and make it for you!_ , he responded and then promptly felt heat crawl to his face over how cliche that sounded. Maybe Haru wouldn’t notice. He hoped he wouldn’t notice.

_Make it a few times and I’ll consider it._

He let out the breath he was holding. A very Haru response - playfully condescending. Good. _Three times is the charm! I’ll invite you for number four._ After a few moments his phone didn’t vibrate and figured that was the end of the conversation and went back to his meal.

A bit bland. He noted to add more salt and pepper.

 

* * *

 

 

Haru wiped the droplets off the screen that had fallen from his damp bangs and placed his phone back in his sports bag.

“Was that your friend?”

He turned towards his teammate, Adachi, confused.

“Sorry. I’ve never seen you text or look so intently at your phone unless it’s your best friend, yeah? You make a face at your phone when it’s him.”

What kind of face? Whatever it was, it was identifiable to acquaintances and this face made itself without permission. He wanted to ask what it looked like, but instead asked, “So?”

Adachi held up his hand as if to brace himself for Haru to pounce. “Easy, I didn’t mean anything by it, Nanase; just an observation.”

Maybe he was smiling moments ago as he looked at the texts. Makoto was improving his cooking, feeling a year’s worth of Haru dropping off a bento at lunch was becoming too much of a burden (it wasn’t) and wanted to try

fixing his own meals. Well, be more serious about it, Makoto had dabbled many times in cooking to minimal success.

They’d spent an evening together compiling simple recipes and then Haru showed him how to cook a few of said dishes every night for the next week. Insisting he understood, Makoto hadn’t asked for help since Sunday. It now

being Wednesday, he wondered what he’d been eating up until now as this was the first photo he’d sent. He’d be sure to ask him on Friday for their usual scheduled night in.

“Break’s over,” called their coach and ushered them to gather with a sweeping gesture of his burly arm.

 

* * *

 

 

Two knocks and Haru was opening the door. They exchanged greeting smiles and Makoto stepped inside and transferred to slippers.

“Mmm something smells good!” he observed.

Like always, Haru shrugged as if the food magically appeared rather than he being the one that prepared it. “Chanpuru.”

“Wiiith pork?”

“Yeah.”

“Heh. Need any help?” Makoto asked as he shuffled after Haru into the tiny kitchen.

“It’s almost ready. Table still needs to be set, though.”

“I’m on it.” Dutifully he maneuvered around Haru to reach the cabinets for plates and cups and chopsticks. He may or may not have arranged his kitchen similarly. By the time he was finished placing everything on the small table and fluffing the cushions, Haru was scooping rice into bowls and pouring miso. They sat opposite of the other and with a quick itadakimasu, dug in.

“You’ve only sent me the one picture, what else have you been eating this week?” Haru asked, delicately making a balanced bite of pork, rice and vegetables.

Sheepishly, green met blue. “The tonkatsu is the only successful thing I’ve been able to make. I made it two other times. Besides that, just simple things like makeshift onigiri and ramen.”

“I see,” Haru said knowingly, a brief upturn of his lips in amusement.

“But I’m close! Maybe next Friday I’ll have you over and feed you for a change.”

“I look forward to it.”

A soft genuine smile came then, and Makoto couldn’t help but swell at what he’d self-deemed something only he saw.

“Am I making a face?”

The clump of rice he held in his chopsticks to bring to his mouth plopped into his bowl of miso. “Eh?” Had he just been caught staring?

“Am I making a face?” he asked, urgency edging in his voice.

“O-oh, well, I suppose you are.”

He frowned, unsatisfactorily. “What does it look like?”

“Something like…” Makoto attempted to draw his eyebrows down and purse his lips a little, “Something like this?”

Haru blinked and looked confused.

Makoto couldn’t blame him; he was sure the imitation was poor at best. Haru was so… so cute! There was no way he could ever look like him.

“Is that what I really look like?” Haru asked?

“Just now, anyway… But don’t take my word for it; I’m bad at impersonations!”

Haru turned his head to the side, he considering this. “What about before I asked? When I sat down at the table with you?”

Makoto thought back to the soft smile before it changed, but decided to not tell Haru that that was his absolute favorite expression, and returned to when he first arrived. Haru did seem to be lost in thought, but was soon replaced with his usual calm demeanor as Makoto kicked off his shoes. Normal expression. “Haru… what’s this about? Was someone making fun of you?”

“Don’t worry about it,” he answered quietly with a shake of his head.

The protective urges ebbed slightly at that. He watched his friend for a moment, taking in his troubled expression and found no clear answer. “Whatever happened,” Makoto started before his brain could stop him, “your face isn’t weird. Don’t listen to whoever it was cause they’re wrong. Haru is Haru and you’re perfect the way you are.” It wasn’t like Haru to worry about what other’s thought and it was concerning. Regardless, no matter what, Makoto wanted him to know that whoever was making him feel insecure was dead wrong and he’d fight and win that battle.

The weight of all that he said could convey, came rushing to his brain and he hoped his tanner skin would hide the flush on his cheeks. It would be so much easier to keep running away, Makoto tried to reason with himself, but, somehow Haru feeling insecure gave him a sense of peace in what would otherwise be awkward.

Haru wasn’t looking at him now, finding the scraps on his plate much more interesting in his contemplative state.

“That was really weird of me to say.” He swallowed the apology that hung on his tongue. Haru deserved the truth and that desire was stronger than embarrassment. “But. I.. I like your face.”

Haru’s attentions left his food and the eyes that looked back at Makoto weren’t the kind he hoped they’d be. Intrigue was better than disgust, he surmised. Of course Haru wouldn’t think anything more of it.  
Mentally he berated himself for being so fickle.

“If you say so,” Haru answered after moments of silence. “Thank you.”

“Sure. Anytime,” Makoto slapped on his signature smile.

 

* * *

 

 

If Makoto didn’t think Haru was making a face, then he simply wasn’t. Makoto knew Haru best, after all. Or maybe he was just used to his face and couldn’t see a difference? He even said he liked his face and he didn’t like particularly weird things, so...

Strangely after Makoto said he liked his face, his stomach did an odd sort of churn like the feeling right before diving into a pool. It was within his best friend’s nature to be openly kind and readily give deserving compliments, his comment should be no different.

The more the swimmer thought about it - the night at the table and other instances throughout their friendship - the more the sensation settled in his stomach. Not being in school the rest of the weekend made the feeling hard to ignore. Come Monday he embraced the water more than usual.

At morning practice, he received a text from Makoto:

_I managed to make some chicken teriyaki last night without burning it \o/ I had some left over and made a bento. I can still come to you at lunch time still and say hi?_

Haru replied right away: _If you want._

_Okay._

He stared at the response. Just ‘okay’? That didn’t sound like a Makoto response. He held his phone and waited for a second text, but none came.

Adachi walked passed him, toweling his hair, whistling.

Was he not making the face now or was his teammate too distracted to notice? Not knowing was somehow irritating.

Makoto didn’t show up at their usual spot for lunch that day.

Or the next day.

Or the next.

He still texted like usual, maybe slightly shorter messages, but Haru didn’t feel there was a huge cause for alarm. Since coming to Tokyo, he’d often miss lunch for this or that project, or get called into work early.

Friday he’d see him for sure and he planned to sort out whatever had happened since they’d seen each other last.

Before afternoon practice began, Haru noticed his outer bag pocket shaking at his phone vibrating and snuck away to answer it.

_There’s a big project due in my child development class next month and we need to get started on it! I’m going to have to cancel tonight and meet up with my study group. I’m sorry, Haru oTL. I’ll make it up to you!_

 

* * *

 

 

Makoto wasn’t ready to face him after giving him an odd compliment. He didn’t believe Haru was offended, he still texted him as normal as normal went for him, but what if he brought it up? He needed to be prepared, and that meant backing his compliment up, which wouldn’t be hard, it was just getting Haru to believe he meant it more than making him feel better.

The hard part was stepping over that barrier of friendship he made for himself.

“Ugh, why doesn’t Tadakuni get it!?” whined his classmate Kadae as she snapped her cell phone shut.

Makoto glanced at Junko, knowing she’d be rolling her eyes. “Is he really that dense or is he playing hard to get?”

“The hell if I know!” Kadae slumped across the table, knocking Makoto’s notes askew in the process. “The guy wouldn’t know I was telling him his ass was fine unless I went over and bit it!”

“Damaging the goods seems a bit extreme.”

“It’s an expression. There’s no fun in being direct, you know? But maybe he really is that oblivious to things.”

“Do we really need to discuss this right now?” asked Hoshi from Makoto’s right, erasing what seemed to be the tenth attempt at a circle on the page that would be a pie chart.

“Super important girl talk!”

“Exactly - girl talk. Tachibana and I don’t want to listen to your complaining about some guy that isn’t interested. We have work to do.”

Makoto decided it best to say nothing. He actually was curious how they flirted.

Kadae sat up and folded her arms, scrutinizing. “Oh. An expert are we?”

“I know for a fact that Tadakuni is wanting to get into a better program for his major; he doesn’t have time for a girlfriend.”

“You say as if you’re his mother,” Junko drawled.

“We can’t decide on what Tadakuni-kun wants,” Makoto offered. “Being busy doesn’t mean he doesn’t want one, eventually.”

Hoshi hit the table with his fists in dismay. “Don’t encourage them, Tachibana! We need to get going on this project.”

“The pizza we ordered should be here soon, right? We’ll stop talking after we eat,” Kadae said with finality and settled closer to Junko to engage in ‘girl talk’.

With a sigh, Hoshi complied and idolly went back to circles and mockups of how many slices their chart would need for various influences for a child’s development.

The pizza arrived fifteen minutes later and in that time, Makoto learned something from his female classmates: he had been flirting with Haru all his life.

 

* * *

 

 

In the last year, Friday night’s had always been theirs. The community pool was closed, so Makoto didn’t have work, and Haru finished practice early. If there was a class project for either of them, they’d somehow arrange it on a Saturday or Sunday between Makoto’s part-time job at the cafe that he somehow managed to get out of working on Fridays. It shouldn’t have been a big deal, Haru reasoned with himself, that this wouldn’t be a permanent change, but he found himself incredibly _bored_ and strangely restless.

What did he usually do when Makoto wasn’t around? He’d already taken his after-class bath... He supposed he could do his homework like a diligent student he occasionally was. It’d be what Makoto would want him to do and what they’d be doing, anyway. One assignment was for his color theory class; at least it would be enjoyable.

Digging in his shoulder bag, he withdrew the small portfolio he kept his art class materials in and thumbed for the class syllabus.

Monochromatic Pallet - paint an arrangement of items in one color.

Haru got up off his knees from the table and walked around his apartment for the subjects of his assignment. Soon his swimming goggles, the dolphin toy he kept in the bathroom, a carved Iwatobi-chan, ladle and mackerel-shaped spoon rest were arranged on a cloth, leaving aesthetically pleasing negative space. Grabbing his bound book of cardstock, he sat two feet away and sketched a rough draft of his piece in quick strokes. After, he darkened key lines and lightly added details and brushed away eraser debris. Satisfied, he set out his watercolors and began to mix his favorite shade of green.

 

* * *

 

 

‘Your face isn’t the only thing I like’. Makoto frowned at the unsent text for the tenth time that day. It didn’t sound like anything he’d ever say. Yes, he very much liked more than Haru’s face, but telling him sounded so lewd. How badly would Haru take it? Sentimentally? Pervertedly?

He shouldn’t have let himself listen to Junko and Kadae’s conversation. Their methods were better suited for a girl and a boy, much more acceptable. Not two best friends where one has had a crush on the other since middle school. There were also their personalities to consider: They openly talked about what their preferences were, knew what they wanted in a relationship in personality and physical assets from their dating experiences.

Makoto had no experience and only had eyes for Haru and he often wondered if that made him pathetic. When Rei would go off on something that was aesthetically beautiful for this and that reason, he immediately could internally relate it to how he saw Haru.

Then the biggest paranoia was if Haru would ever like him back. He never saw him interact with girls outside what was necessary. Or Gou. Makoto wasn’t going to ask or snoop around his house for questionable materials as that was his right to privacy. When Rin came back into their lives, he thought maybe they had something going on; thankfully it had been mere speculation. When Makoto did what he now saw as ‘flirting’, Haru never appeared bothered by it, so maybe…

He’d never know unless he tried. He just needed to find a way that was more overt and wasn’t creepy. Pressing the back key, he erased the message and started a new one:

‘I meant what I said, Haru. I’d really like to see your face again for that dinner I promised.’ He closed his eyes and pressed Send, heart pounding, palms sweating. Minutes later his phone vibrated.

_when?_

 

* * *

 

 

Haru couldn’t help the relief that came over him at Makoto’s text that wasn’t telling him he had to cancel plans or something funny a classmate said or a photo that Ren or Ran sent. He wasn’t avoiding him like he was starting to fear.

The text itself, however, brought back the strange sensation in his belly and thinking about seeing Makoto several days earlier than usual sent it flipping more. Makoto had a free night and wanted to spend it with him.

He arrived at Makoto’s apartment ten minutes early. Makoto probably wouldn’t be upset that he showed up too early, but it was impolite. Maybe even suspicious. Suspicious of what, he couldn’t be sure. So he waited outside, pacing along the corridor. With a minute to spare, he knocked. Heavy steps approached the door and the smiling face he’d been looking forward to seeing all day invited him in.

“Haru! Dinner’s almost ready. Come on in and have a seat.”

Unlike Makoto, Haru was obedient and did not offer help. He toed off his shoes and peeled off his jacket and stepped into the shoebox apartment and made his way to the already set table. If he were to offer any help it would have been to do that. Or offer finishing touches on the dish, but resisted.

Soon the meal, tonkatsu, was brought to him on a chipped plate, off center meat and cabbage that wasn’t burnt. He was actually impressed.

“I know it doesn’t look great, but I tried! I’ve gotten good enough that I think it’ll taste good. Panko looks much crispier this time, too!”

“It looks great, Makoto,” Haru said, waiting for his friend to sit down so they could taste the fruits of his labors.

His face lit up at that with a breath and Haru had to look away and Makoto didn’t seem to notice as he sat opposite him. “Go ahead… you have the first bite.”

Haru positioned his chopsticks and broke a piece off and placed it in his mouth. It was surprisingly tender and pre-seasoned. The panko could almost be considered burnt, but it wasn’t a bad texture. He looked up from his chewing to see Makoto looking at him expectantly. “I can tell you’ve worked on the technique for a while. It’s good.”

“Ah! Really? I’m so glad you can tell.”

“Keep this up and I might let you cook me lunch.”

“N-no way! My bentos are from from presentable. The rice sticks together and browns and my-”

“Makoto.” _I’m trying to pay you a compliment._

“Thank you,” he said softly, clamping his mouth shut on tonkatsu-filled chopsticks.

The rest of the meal was held in comfortable silence and Haru ended up eating a second helping, though not as much of the cabbage, as it was a bit underdone for his tastes.

“I’m no good at desserts, so I didn’t make anything,” Makoto apologized as he picked up their plates to the sink.

“I don’t mind.”

He laughed at that, obviously remembering Haru didn’t care for sweet things, and if ever there was dessert, it was for Makoto. “Thank you for the meal. I’ll try your next recipe you decide to make.”

Makoto brought a fist to his chin. “Um, I’m thinking of trying yakisoba next.”

“Not green curry? I’m surprised.”

“I really like that you make it for me, though. If I made it, it wouldn’t be as special,” he smiled with closed eyes and tilt of his head.

The churning showed itself again and Haru hated that he didn’t have his food to hide behind anymore.

“Well, I didn’t plan anything else… Want to game?”

“Sure.”

Happily Makoto pulled out the gaming console and paddles and Haru settled himself on the sofa. After getting everything into place, Makoto came and sat next to him, adorning his glasses.

They played a racing game, simple and straight-forward, perfect for digesting a meal and relaxing. Every once in awhile, he felt Makoto shift beside him and nudge his knee with his. His legs were long, and the sofa wasn’t a full size in favor of the small space, he supposed he was cramped. Every time it happened, though, his skin burned at the contact and his car veered off course.

Mashing of buttons and clicks of joysticks filled in the otherwise quiet atmosphere. Haru missed this: Getting together without the pretense of homework, little talking, enjoying the other’s company without interruption, unwinding to forget the busy lives they’ve created. He wanted to suggest they do this more, but knew that was selfish of him to request more time with his best friend and knew Makoto would strain the hectic schedule he had to make it happen.

When Makoto announced it was getting late, Haru had lost track of how many wins or losses he had in their matches. It wasn’t important.

Makoto stood up from switching off the console. “Thanks for coming over. It was a lot of fun.”

“Thank you for having me. I wouldn’t mind playing games again on Friday after we study.”

The bright smile faded on Makoto’s face and immediately Haru felt cold. “Oh, I’m meeting up with my classmates again for our project. And the week after for final touches for it to be done that Monday. We thought about going karaoking afterwards, I’m sure they wouldn’t mind if you came.”

Makoto was trying to include him, making it so he wouldn’t feel left out, and yet a furious little monster gnawed at his insides. He didn’t want to spend time with other people that took Makoto away from what spare time they had together. “No thanks.”

“Yeah, I didn’t think you would be interested,” Makoto laughed, rubbing at the back of his neck. “But, uh, let’s see… I think I work at the cafe almost every night next week… Sunday night after my shift could work.”

It wouldn’t be right to take away what could be Makoto’s only alone time at home away. Nor did he want him to think he had to squeeze him in. “It’s okay. We’ll see each other at lunch or something.”

“Other than Thursday, I should be able to.”

The gnawing kept going and he hated it. “I should get going,” Haru walked past his friend and into the entryway to his shoes and slipped them on.

“Want me to walk you to the station?”

“No. I’ll be fine,” he said more tersely than he meant to. He wasn’t mad at Makoto, he wasn’t.

“A-alright, then. Take care. Text me when you get home?”

“Yeah.” He gripped the handle too tightly and let himself out.

One lost Friday night was nothing, it was fine, he managed, but two in a row and possibly a third? He didn’t even know these classmates names or faces - well, maybe names if he listened more carefully to when Makoto spoke of them - and he was seething with… with…

Was he jealous?

When Makoto got the job teaching swimming on Saturdays, Haru learned to adjust. It was hard to give up an entire day when he was so used to seeing him. One day of work a week wasn’t enough for Makoto to make rent, so he took on the job at the cafe and that meant most evenings or days he didn’t have class he was serving coffees and cakes. With the classmates it was different. He wasn’t financially obligated to them, which meant he did it more out of duty and acquaintanceship. Were they more important than him? No, of course not, Makoto would rather inconvenience one than many, thus Haru taking less priority. It was fine, understandable, he couldn’t be _jealous_ over that. Shouldn’t be.

Yet he was.

“Haruuuu!”

He stopped at the voice and turned towards it, realizing he hadn’t made it that far from Makoto’s apartment building, too lost in thought to walk normally. This time of night in the suburbs of Tokyo, the streets were fairly empty and soon they were the only ones standing on the sidewalk near a lamppost and bike rack.

Makoto stopped in front of him, panting. “You… you forgot your jacket and scarf and ohmygosh look at you, you’re freezing!”

He wasn’t sure if he was shivering because he was cold or angry or both and everything between, but allowed Makoto to slip his arms through his jacket and wrap his scarf around his neck, then threw his arms around him and rubbed his back to radiate warmth.

“I’m glad I caught up with you,” Makoto breathed vapor at his neck. “You’re not shaking so much. Good.” There was a moment’s hesitation as he pulled away, eyes looking down, and then he leaned in, this time, to press his lips to Haru’s forehead. “There - all better.”

Through his hair he couldn’t feel much, but the very act caused the flames to dim and boil for something else.

He had been upset because Makoto, his best friend, was the most precious, most important person to him and being denied what they established crushed his heart and soul. Makoto was smiling at him as if he were the one that was irreplaceable. Haru couldn’t let him keep thinking that and pulled Makoto by both sides of his open jacket to meet their lips.

 

* * *

 

 

Makoto was positive he squeaked. And he would have been sure he stood there for an eternity stupefied if Haru wasn’t waving a hand in front of his face, calling for him. He blinked back to Earth and Haru still had a hold of his jacket, watching him carefully, as if he did something wrong and was about to be yelled at.

Words wouldn’t come, words wouldn’t be convincing, and he took hold of Haru’s face in both hands and kissed back, lips crashing with less finesse than before. Once the shock dissipated, it became easier, finding a rhythm, finding a pleasant pressure, finding breath-

\--still needed work and they broke apart and one look conveyed that they needed to be somewhere private to continue. Heart beating and bodyheat rising, they walked back to Makoto’s apartment.

They stumbled into the entryway, door barely closing before they were frantically removing the bulky jackets and layers. Once shirts were off, chests dotted in red splotches, cheeks flushed, mouths found each other once more.

Haru reached around Makoto’s neck and bent his knees, and they slid onto the floor, Makoto then pinning Haru against the door. Slender fingers ghosted Makoto’s heated skin, sides, raised arms, shoulders, stopping to admire the muscles in his back. The gentle, tentative touching was intoxicating. He surged forward with another kiss and it was then he noticed the problem that was forming.

The intensity slowed on Makoto’s part, wanting to pull away, and not wanting to pull away, and before he could decide, Haru reached for the hand that was holding him at the waist and placed it on his groin. “Me, too,” Haru rasped, the blue nearly lost in his lust-filled eyes.

Makoto swallowed at the dryness in his throat and fingered at the button of Haru’s jeans. “Can…?”

Haru nodded and sat up straighter and patted the ground for Makoto to sit. Makoto complied, legs overlapping, and then they were unbuttoning the other’s jeans and touching the other through underwear before pulling at waistbands.

Different, but familiar hands, on Makoto’s leaking erection was like the kissing had been - jarring at first, and then comfortable, because everything was comfortable and safe with Haru. Haru’s touch was smooth and steady, despite the mutual jacking (though his face was a brilliant shade of pink and making stuttering sounds), showing an occasional bit of power on the up-jerk and thumbing at his slit. Makoto’s hold was firm and staccatoed and, judging by how much he’d broken through Haru’s stoic expressions, was giving a decent handjob.

With being new to another’s touch of their sensitive skins, they did not last long. Makoto was first with a cry, then Haru with a long gasp. They sat in their mess, panting and collecting themselves.

Haru removed his head from against the door. Smiling, eyes a little wet on the edges, and looked so happy, the high from what they’d done together didn’t give Makoto the same kind of thrill as that look did. A chuckle bubbled in Makoto’s throat as he tried his best to mimic the tender expression

“You’re making a face, now.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from from Birdy's "All You Never Say".
> 
> I'm currently taking fic commissions to help with car repairs! [See my page for details!](http://mamodewberry.tumblr.com/post/128818305463/emergency-commissions)


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